Date: Mon, 03 Mar 2003 19:46:22 +0000
From: Jeffrey Fletcher
Subject: A Tle of Two Englishmen Part 5
This is a story that involves sex between males. if such a story is
offensive, or illegal for you toread where you live, then do not continue,
go and surf elsewhere.
This is a work of fiction and in no way draws on the lives of any specific
person or persons. If there is any similarity to any real persons or events
it is entirely conincidental.
The work is cipyrighted (c) by the author and may not be reproduced in any
form without the specific written permission of the author. It is assigned
to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it
may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written
permission of the author.
My thanks to John and Michael who have read this through and made a number
of corrections and suggestions. Any remaining errors errors, grammatical,
spelling or historical or whatever are entirely my fault.
If you want to comment on the story then do contact me on
Jeffyrks@hotmail.com. I aim to reply to all messages.
This story is dedicated to Ron, who lives in an English village, and whose
chance remark while we were chatting gave me the idea for this tale. The
story bears absolutely no resemblance to his relationship with J. Neither
Ron or J identify in any way with either character.
Resume:- Malcolm and simon are two gaymen who live in a homophobic Englsh
village. They have met, but have carefully concealed their sexual
orientation from each other. Both have been thinking over their own
personal sexual stories. In this part we take up Malcolm's story.
A tale of Two Englishmen Part 5
Malcolm and Janice were accepted in the upper strata of Whitgest social
life. They had lived in the village for the requisite number of years, and
they had money. Entry to this group depended on birth, profession or
wealth.
Towards the middle of June they were invited to dinner with another couple
in the village. These dinner parties were part of the accepted social
round. There were five couples present that evening. The host and hostess
were Arthur and Elsie Kimpton. There was Bruce and Helen Perkins. Bruce
was the Church of England vicar of the parish. Another couple, Bill and
Margaret Hurst, were recently returned from a visit to a daughter who was
living in Australia. The other couple was Reginald and Barbara Ironside.
Reginald was a retired Lieutenant Colonel, who liked to be called Colonel
by acquaintances, and Reginald only by very close friends. Anyone who
called him Reg, apart from his wife, was firmly put in their place. These
dinner parties were informal affairs. Everybody knew each other. No
introductions were needed. There was no dressing up. Janice wore a
brightly coloured frock, suitable for a warm summer evening, and Malcolm
wore some white trousers and an open necked floral shirt. Janice had
protested that his shirt clashed with her dress.
He refused to change. "We won't be sitting together. So it doesn't
matter."
The first part of the evening was taken up with the usual small talk and
catching up with family and local news. There was a lot of laughter and the
atmosphere thoroughly relaxed.
It was half way through the main course that the discussion became
interesting.
"Now tell us all about your visit to Australia," asked Barbara Ironside.
"How was your daughter and her family?"
Barbara answered at some length about the family, as the daughter had been
brought up in the village, and was well known by all present.
"What did you think of Australia?" asked Reginald Ironside.
"This was answered by Bill Hurst, who gave a brief itinerary of the places
visited.
"Did you go up Ayers Rock?" asked Bruce Perkins.
"I wanted to, but when Barbara saw people holding on to the chain and
pulling themselves up the steep bit she backed out. I couldn't just leave
her at the bottom."
"What did you think of Sydney?" asked Arthur Kimpton.
"I liked it, largely. The harbour and the bridge are wonderful. As for the
Opera House it's just out of this world. I think it's the most wonderful
modern building in the world. We actually went to a concert in it. Do you
know what I heard someone call it?"
They all shook their heads.
"I heard a man call it Nuns in a Scrum!"
Everyone laughed.
"But there was one thing that made me rather uncomfortable in Sydney."
"What was that?" asked Helen Perkins.
"We saw lots of homosexuals there. Homosexual men."
"How did you know they were homosexuals? asked Alice Kimpton.
"Well. Let me give you an example. We were just outside the Opera house
and two men walked passed holding hands."
"You see that sometimes on the continent!" said Janice Pridham. "We've seen
men walking hand in hand several times, haven't we Mal?"
Malcolm nodded.
"But, my dear, these men stopped just in front of us and started kissing,"
added Margaret Hurst.
"How disgusting. I'd heard things had gone to pot in Australia. Lost all
the moral fibre that they used to have during the war. Can't make good
soldiers when that sort of thing is going on," commented Reginald.
"But that wasn't all," continued Margaret. "We were walking in Hyde Park
one morning, and these two young men who had been walking just in front of
us, stopped and started kissing, and putting their hands.... I was really
embarrassed. We didn't know where to look, did we Bill?"
"And they have a big Mardi Gras parade once a year, when all these wretches
come out and flaunt themselves. Penny said that what you can't see doesn't
need any imagination. We saw some photographs. Almost totally naked men
dancing around. We walked down one street, called Oxford Street if you
please, and there were shops and other places full of what you can only call
fragrant pornography."
"I find that quite horrific," said Bruce. "The Anglican diocese of Sydney,
is well known for the soundness of its doctrine and practice. It is
amazing that such flagrant evil can be found so close to Gospel purity ."
"It rather put us off going into the centre of Sydney," said Margaret. "The
suburbs were all right, weren't they, Bill?"
"Yes, I suppose they were," answered Bill Hurst.
"The rot started setting in with that damned, excuse my French, Padre, when
that Wolfenden fellow made his report back in the 1950s. Apparently he made
his report because his son was gay. Many tried hard to stop his
recommendations becoming law. They put off the evil day for quite a while.
But the tide of filth seems to sweep everything before it."
"I am afraid I don't know much about such things," said hostess Alice. "I
don't think I have ever spoken to a homosexual. Perhaps I wouldn't know one
if I spoke to one."
"You can always tell them," said the Colonel, with his clipped moustache
bristling. "They have limp hand shakes, can't whistle, and have a certain
mincing kind of walk. I can't bear them." He shuddered with disgust.
"Did you come across any in your army days?" asked Arthur.
"I did come across some. I came across a couple of cooks kissing and
cuddling in the mess once. I marched them off to the Guard Room pronto,
and told the lads on guard what they were there for. That insured that they
had a warm night, there is one thing normal soldiers can't stand is
pouftahs in their ranks. I immediately reported them to the C.O.
[Commanding Officer] and they were out of the army before you could say Jack
Robinson. I had one chap come to me and he had the bloody cheek, pardon my
French, Padre, to tell me he was a homosexual. Of course, I had to take it
up. I think he was just wanting an easy way out of the army."
"Did that mean a dishonourable discharge, Reginald?" asked Arthur.
"Yes, but that means nothing these days. Almost a matter of pride. If I'd
had my way I would've shot them."
"That's a bit drastic. isn't it' Colonel?" asked Alice.
"Not for me it isn't. Give me a conchee any day to a bloody poof. A
conchee, though I disagree with him, does at least have some moral
principles. These poufs have no moral principles whatever. Padre, what
does the Church think about all this?"
Bruce paused for a moment. "As with so many things in these lily-livered
days, the Church of England seems to be divided on this issue. The trouble
is, and I must confess it, there are a lot of homosexual clergy,
especially in the High Church or Catholic part of the Church of England.
There always has been. But they have always kept a low profile. It is the
wishy washy liberals who are for tolerance and acceptance. But in the more
Bible believing part of the Church there is a lot of resistance to any
increased acceptance. I am a member of a group that has been set up
standing very firmly against any acceptance of homosexuals, especially
homosexual clergy."
"I'm glad to hear it, Padre." said Reginald.
"The Lambeth Conference in 1998 came out strongly against any change. The
American Bishops are flabby on this, and yes, one or two over here are.
But the African and Asian bishops put some moral fibre into the debate, and
stood up to American liberal pressure. The official position in the Church
of England is not as strict as I would like, but one can only hope and pray
that the next Lambeth Conference in 2008 will continue to stand firm. Or
better still take a stricter line. There are some clergy in this country
who are refusing to have their diocesan bishop in their parish Church
unless he has publicly stated he supports the Lambeth statement on this."
"Good for them," muttered Reginald.
By this time the main course had been eaten, and for sometime they had been
sitting talking. Alice, as hostess, was wanting to move on to the next
course. She sought to sum up this discussion, and move on. "Thank God,
there are no homosexuals in Whitgest." She said this emphatically, and
with complete assurance.
"But there are," said Helen Perkins, the vicar's wife, contributing to the
discussion for he first time.
Everyone looked at her in surprise, and her husband glared at her. She
realised that she had said more than she should, and put her hand over her
mouth.
Husband Bruce came to the rescue. Very quietly he said, "I have had
dealings with two homosexuals in this village, during the time I have been
here. I know of another one who used to live in the village. It would be
entirely wrong for me to say anything more, as of course, they all have
families."
There was silence while everyone thought who it might be. Malcolm thought,
'And I know of a fourth, and I don't think you know about me, Vicar.'
"Pudding, everyone," said Alice getting on her feet, and beginning to
collect up the plates.
There was no further discussion of homosexuality during the meal. But when
they adjourned to the sitting room for coffee, Reginald Ironside sat next
to Bruce, the Vicar.
"You know, Padre, this homosexual thing has got to be stopped getting into
every part of our national life. Things are going to the dogs rapidly. We
even have Cabinet Ministers who are openly known to be practising
homosexuals. Maggie Thatcher wouldn't've stood for it."
"I agree with you, Colonel. Everywhere you turn there is a downward moral
drift."
So they carried on for several more minutes.
Janice and Malcolm had walked the couple of hundred yards to the Kimpton's.
For their return journey there was a newly risen moon shining on the
village, and the air was still very warm.
"You were very quiet this evening, Mal."
"Was I?"
"You didn't say anything when we were discussing the gay question."
"I didn't think I had anything worth while to say."
They walked the rest of the way in silence.
Both were tired and they quickly made their way through their different
bedtime rituals. Soon both were asleep.
Malcolm woke a few minutes after 4.00am. The light of dawn was beginning to
show round the edges of the bedroom curtains. He woke feeling ill at ease
with himself. It took him several minutes to realise why this was so. He
was discomforted by the conversation at the Kimpton's dinner party. He
knew from bitter experience of worrying over work problems that there would
be no more sleep for him that night. Quietly he got out of bed, put on his
dressing gown, and made his way down to the kitchen. He put some water in
the electric kettle, and made himself a cup of tea. He went into the
sitting room, and looking into the garden saw that it was going to be a
bright sunny day. He opened the glass doors onto the patio, and went out
to sit on the seat. The birds were singing and the sun was beginning to
shine on the tops of the trees in the distance. He knew that in a few
minutes it would be shining onto the patio.
He felt ashamed of himself. He had said nothing during the evening
discussion. He felt that the whole gay case had gone unsaid because he had
remained silent.
Yet as he thought it over he realised that if he had spoken out, it would
have been to face the hostility of the bigoted Reginald Ironside, and the
condemnation of the dogmatic prejudices of Bruce Perkins. If he had spoken,
even the smallest word of support, he would have faced an interrogation
from Janice that might have led to a full revealing of his true sexual
nature. That opened up the most alarming prospects.
He sat sipping his hot tea, with everything churning over in his mind.
He wondered about the other gay men in the village. Though there were some
who had been born and bred in Whitgest, there was also a lot of coming and
going. Increasingly, as the years had gone by, more and more families were
arriving and departing. He thought of the single men in the village.
There were only a couple, though there were three or four widowers. But he
knew that the gay men Bruce had spoken about might well be men like himself;
men who were married, and yet had become increasingly convinced that they
were gay as they had become older. They might be as undercover as he was.
The analogy to spying and 'moles' came to his mind. He smiled at the
metaphor. It is interesting that one person who it never occurred to him to
give a moment's thought to was Simon.
Malcolm was essentially an extrovert, and not readily given to
introspection. But he found his mind going down a path that was not
totally unfamiliar to him. Why was he gay? Why could he not have been a
happy heterosexual like the majority of men? The word 'normal' had been
used in the conversation of the evening before. He knew and felt that it
was a minority of men who were like him. Why could he not have been one of
the 'normal' majority. The feeling of being in a minority was accentuated
by his remaining so much in the closet. He had had very few gay friends
during his life. He had none now. He had no one to whom he could talk. No
one with whom to share his thoughts and feelings. He had no shoulder on
which to cry. He could have predicted the result of allowing this drift of
thought. He became miserable and depressed.
At 7.00am Janice woke, and seeing Malcolm's bed was empty went to find
him. He was still sitting on the seat on the patio, fast asleep. She
went back into the house and made a cup of tea. She brought out a tray with
the tea things on it, which she placed on a small table. She sat
alongside Malcolm. Her presence disturbed him and he began to stir. He
opened his eyes and was, for the moment, surprised to find where he was.
Janice leaned over and gave him a kiss. "Couldn't you sleep?"
"No, bad night. Woke just after 4.00."
"Must have been something you ate or drank last night. You haven't had a
night like that since you retired."
"No, I don't think I have."
That sat in silence sipping their hot tea.
"Isn't it a beautiful morning, Mal. It is good to be alive."
He grunted. He was only to well aware of the feelings of despair and self
hate that were in him. He knew that he would be like a bear with a sore head
all day if he was not careful.
"I think we should go and play a round of golf, old girl. Or have you got
some W.I. meeting or shopping to do?"
"I was going to work in the garden but that can wait. I'll get some
breakfast, and we'll go and play a round of golf. And you can help me in
the garden this afternoon."
He groaned; but that is what they did.
The round of golf and the chance to hit a ball hard worked off some of his
feelings, but not entirely. In the evening he said he was going out for a
pint. But he did not go to the pub, instead he sauntered slowly up one of
the tracks out of the village, deep in thought.
The discussions of twenty-four hours earlier continued to plague his mind.
Now his frustrations were to the fore. It was so long since he had had any
sexual activity, other than a lonely wank. He ached deep in his being for
the feel of another man, the touch of another's hard hot cock, the kiss of
a man. He could see no way out of his present situation. He kept trying to
find a reason to go off and do something and find someone on his own. If
only he could get a couple of hours away by himself that he could explain
and would be acceptable to Janice.
His stroll took him up an open track with fields on either side. The wheat
in them was almost ready for harvest. He could hear the rustle of ripened
ears as the gentle zephyr made ripples of light across the surface of the
fields.
His memory slipped back to the days when he first started work.
Malcolm had left school when he was sixteen. ( Malcolm) At that age, HE was
a strongly built young man. He gave every promise of having broad shoulders
and strong muscular arms and legs. His head was topped by a mass of curly
ginger hair. At school he had sometimes been called Ginger, or Carrots.
Usually only once, as a well aimed punch from Mal was not something you
invited twice. As he was going into the family business, the Ironmongers in
Luton, there seemed to his father to be little need for further full time
education.
"You will learn almost everything you need to know in the shop, son. The
only thing that might be of some help is to learn how to keep the books. I
have found that increasingly hard, as there seems to be more and more paper
work every year. You can learn all you need to know about that at night
school."
So he started work in the family business. It had just been presumed that
he would follow his father, as his father had followed his father, and he
his father, the original Malcolm Pridham, who had founded Pridhams -
Ironmongers in 1855. The only concession his father made to him was that he
allowed him to play cricket on Saturday afternoons for a local club. Zeal
for cricket was as much in the family genes as the red hair and broad
shoulders.
The young Malcolm enjoyed working in the shop. Ironmongers were shops that
served a mostly masculine clientele, certainly in those days. Often men
came in, uncertain what they really needed to do a particular job.
Malcolm's father, and another older man working in the shop were frequently
asked, what do I need to do this, or how do I do that. Because he was
inexperienced, Malcolm was told to listen in as much as possible. But his
father also got him to do various things not only in the shop but also at
home.
"You will know how to help people, son, when you've done the thing
yourself."
When some new gadget or material came on the market, the older Malcolm
insisted that the younger one try it out.
"Then you'll know if it is any good, and give those little helpful tips
that mean customers come back."
The shop was situated in the centre of Luton between a bakers and a
confectioners, or sweet shop. It had only a narrow frontage on the road,
but went back quite a way, and there was a back yard that led onto an alley
way. The bakers next door was run by an elderly couple, who kept talking
about retirement. It was that which presented to the younger Malcolm the
first step of his entrepreneurial career.
"Dad, old Mr and Mrs Guy, in the bakers next door, keep talking about
retiring. Will you buy their shop when they do?"
"Why should I do that, son?"
"Because it would enable us to expand. We would double our window space for
a start. We could put more things on display. There would be more space
for everything. The war's been over for nearly seven years, and things are
beginning to improve. Things are going to change, change a lot and rapidly.
We will need to adapt and begin to break out into new sorts of things we
sell. We could develop our garden side of things, not just garden tools,
but grass cutters, more seeds, plants even."
Malcolm kept on at his father.
"To buy their shop would cost a lot of money, son. What if it failed, and
our investment was lost?"
"If it failed, we could sell the shop. Property is not likely to go down in
value. We have a good site now, let's make it bigger and better."
Mrs Guy died suddenly, and shortly afterwards old Mr Guy was standing
outside the shops talking to the Malcolm's father.
"I've made up my mind. I'm going to sell the shop. It's too much for me on
my own. We should have done it five years ago."
"Sorry to hear you're retiring. We've been good neighbours. But, Mr Guy,
I'd like to buy your shop. What say, you get it valued, and I get it
valued, and if there is a difference we split it. Doing it that way would
save you a lot in fees and so on."
Mr Guy's face lit up. "Done!" And they shook hands on it.
Mr Pridham went back into his shop and called his son into the back.
"You'll be pleased to know, son, I'm hoping to buy the shop next door."
Malcolm clapped his hands, and gave his Dad a hug, something he had not
done for years. They both felt slightly surprised at this expression of
emotion, but they were both pleased that it had happened.
But all that is to jump ahead. Malcolm had been working in the shop for
about nine months when he first encountered Ben. It was one lunch time.
His father was having his sandwich lunch in the back of the shop, and
Malcolm was in the front by himself. A young man walked in, a couple of
years older than Malcolm. He looked rather lost and helpless.
"Can I help you, Sir?" said Malcolm.
"Yes. I'm wanting to put up some shelves in my room. I've got the wood and
I need some brackets and some nails, and a hammer.
"If you're putting up shelves, I suggest you use screws."
"Oh, I suppose I so. I am not much of a handyman. Thank you. What do I
need then?"
"To do the job properly, you'll need screws, a screw driver, and I'm
afraid you will also really need a drill, to drill some holes in the wall
for the screws. The difficult thing is making sure that the shelves are
level."
"I've got a screw driver, so I'd better buy the rest."
The young man, Ben bought the items he required and went off. Malcolm was
pleased to have been a help, and to have made a sale, but he thought no more
of the encounter.
About three weeks later, the young man Ben, came back to the shop.
Malcolm recognised him. "How did the shelves go?"
"Fine! Thanks for giving me the tip about being careful to get them level.
I worked it all out mathematically. I didn't get my Higher [See footnote
1] in maths for nothing. It was good to put it to some use."
"Should I come and inspect?"
Ben laughed. "I don't think that is necessary. What I want is a washer
for a tap."
"That's easy. Have you ever changed one before?"
"No. The landlady has asked me to change a tap in her kitchen. I didn't
like to say I didn't know how."
"You can end up with a flood if you're not careful. Would you like me to
show you how to do it?"
"Yes, please. The landlady is a bit of a dragon, and wouldn't welcome a
flood."
"Follow me then."
Malcolm led the way through to the back of the shop where there was a tap.
He demonstrated how to change a washer.
"If you were an old woman," said Malcolm, "my Dad would send me with you to
do it for you."
"Pity I'm not an old woman. But I think I can manage."
It was another month before Ben appeared again.
"Shelves still up?"
"Of course," replied Ben with a grin.
"Tap still leaking?"
"No. The landlady has asked me to put up some shelves for her in the
kitchen. This is a more difficult job as she wants quite long shelves. I
need ...." And he gave a list of his requirements.
"That sounds like a two man job to me." said Malcolm.
"It would certainly be easier with another pair of hands."
"I could come along and give you hand after work one evening."
Ben's face lit up. "That'd be a real help."
They fixed an evening to do the job.
"By the way, what's your name," asked Malcolm. "In my mind you are the
shelf man, and I can't call you that."
"I'm Ben."
"And what's yours?"
"Malcolm. Though many friends call me Mal."
It was the Tuesday evening of the following week that Malcolm made his way
round to the house where Ben had his room. Ben welcomed him and introduced
him to Mrs Mann, his landlady. She was a little old lady.
Ben explained what had to be done. He had all the equipment there. There
was a little sawing of wood, and drilling of holes, and putting up
brackets, and varnishing wood. It took them just over a couple of hours
between them. Mrs Mann was thrilled to bits. She plied them WITH cups of
tea, and at the end gave them some money and told them to go and buy
themselves a drink.
"Can I take Mal upstairs to my room and show him the shelves I put up?"
"Of course you can, boys."
They went up to Ben's room.
"Normally she doesn't like her lodgers having visitors in their rooms."
"I reckoned we have earned some Brownie points today."
Malcolm looked round the room. Fastened onto the wall was a cricket bat
covered in signatures. He looked at them carefully - Cyril Washbrook, Len
Hutton, Bill Edrich, Dennis Compton, Godfrey Evans and the rest of the
England team of the late 1940s.
"Where did you get that from?"
"My father gave it to me on my eighteenth birthday. He's a member of the
MCC. [Note No 2]"
"You lucky man! Can I take it down and look properly."
"Of course."
Malcolm took the bat down and held it with awe. "To think those guys signed
it. Do you play cricket?"
"Yes, whenever I can."
"So do I."
"Let's go and have that drink. We can talk about cricket in the pub."
They went downstairs, and were waylaid by Mrs Mann. "I want to thank you
again. Malcolm you will always be welcome in this house whenever you want
to visit Ben here."
"Thank you Mrs Mann, that's very kind of you."
"I think you've made a conquest there." said Ben on their way to the pub.
"I think she's rather sweet."
"She has strict rules, and you've just been given permission to break one
of them. But she's had a hard life. She married Mr Mann in 1917 and he was
killed in France six months later."
Round at the pub they talked about themselves. Ben worked at the small
airfield just outside Luton. He was just beginning the second of a three
year contract. They also talked about cricket. Ben played for Whitgest, a
village just outside Luton, Mal played for Luton team.
"Why don't you come and play for us," asked Ben. "We're in need of some more
players, and could do with a batsman."
"I'll give it a thought."
It was closing time when they left.
"Thanks for you help, Mal. I really have enjoyed this evening, every part
of it."
That Monday lunch time Malcolm learnt that he had not been picked for his
team. He was rather upset. So he went round to Ben's. When he knocked on
the door, Mrs Mann answered it. She was most welcoming, and called up to
Ben to let him know that Mal had called. He went upstairs to Ben's room.
Ben insisted on making some coffee for them both. He went down to the
kitchen to get the drink. Malcolm looked at other things in the room while
he waited. There were a couple of photographs of cricket teams. He
examined them carefully and managed to pick out Ben.
Malcolm asked about the possibility of playing cricket with Whitgest that
Saturday. Ben said he would find out if there was a place for Malcolm in
the village team.
"What do you do with yourself when you're not in the shop or playing
cricket?" asked Ben. "Have you a girl friend?"
"No, plenty of time for that sort of thing. Have you?"
"No. Not really interested."
"What do you do then?"
"I like to cycle. Often go out on the bike for an hour or two, even in
winter."
"I've got a bike. Though I don't ride it much."
"Shall we go out together sometime?" suggested Ben.
"Yea! Why not?"
So they agreed to got out for a cycle ride in two evenings time. It was a
bright breezy evening when they set off.. They met at Ben's, and as
Malcolm would be playing in the Whitgest team that Saturday afternoon, Ben
suggested that they cycled out there, so Ben could have a look at the
ground. The trip to Whitgest was uneventful. They spent some time at the
ground, and had a look at the wicket for Saturday's match. Ben said he
thought it would be a good batsman's wicket, but that may have been wishful
thinking.
They had only gone a mile out of Whitgest when they realised that a heavy
bank of cloud was rolling up fast. Within the next half mile they could see
the shafts of heavy rain fast approaching them.
"I think we should shelter, or we'll get soaked, even with our capes on,"
said Ben.
"I forgot mine," moaned Malcolm.
A hundred yards further on there was a small coppice. "Let's shelter in
there," said Ben.
They pushed their bikes into the small wood, and found a large pollard oak.
Its thick trunk and overhanging bowl offered them some shelter. Almost at
once the wind and the rain were upon them - only it wasn't just rain, there
was hail with it. Ben undid his cycling cape. He put it over both their
heads, but that did not offer much shelter, and two heads could not stick
out of the poncho like cape. After several quick changes of position they
found that they could be most sheltered if they sat down with their backs to
the tree trunk, with both trying to see and breath through the hole for the
head. This involved sitting very close together, with their knees up as
close to their chests as they could get. There was a certain amount of
laughter, and they found there was slightly more room if they put their
arms round each other. Any passer by would have been amazed at the sight.
A bright yellow oilskin cycle cape, at the bottom of a tree with four eyes
peering out, and the toes of four shoes peeping out on the ground.
They listened to the wind in the trees, and the sound of the rain and hail
on the leaves, and on to the oilskin.
Ben's arm was round Malcolm's shoulder. With his fingers he gently stroked
Malcolm's neck and ear lobe.
They looked at each other and grinned. Ben continued. Malcolm found this
pleasant and arousing. He felt his penis stir. Should he stop Ben? He was
enjoying it, and Ben need never know what was going on in his pants, so
why not?
Ben moved closer. "It's rather snug in here."
Malcolm's response was to give a slight squeeze to Ben's waist.
They looked at each other and smiled again.
Ben reached across and put his other hand on Malcolm's knee.
"You okay? You don't mind?" asked Ben.
"No?" He wondered where all this was leading, but he liked the sensations
in his body. He liked the feel in his hardening penis, but as long as Ben
didn't discover that, then why not?
Ben turned his head towards Malcolm. "Tell you a secret, Mal." He paused
and Malcolm looked at him. "I have got a hard on."
Malcolm turned towards Ben, "So have I!"
Then to Malcolm's surprise and astonishment Ben gently kissed his neck.
Ben's hand began to feel into Malcolm's crotch. He could not feel much due
to the restrictions of space, and the contortions of their bodies under the
oilskin cycle cape. But he did manage to encounter a part of the hardened
cock. Each move from Ben was heightening Malcolm's awareness and pleasure.
He had been tossing himself off for some years, and that gave him pleasure.
The warmth of another body, and the feel of another's hand multiplied the
pleasure by a factor of at least ten.
The rain and hail began to ease off. Soon they were able to remove the
cape. Ben stood up, his trousers revealed that he was hard. Malcolm
followed onto his feet, and his trousers were in the same condition,
though there was a distinct damp spot, that he did not think came from the
rain.
"We will have to do something about this, won't we?" said Ben, reaching
across and holding Malcolm's cock. "Have you ever done anything like this
with another guy, Mal?"
"No, never."
"You okay then? Like to do more"
Malcolm rather speechless, just nodded.
Ben undid Malcolm's belt and flies, and putting his hand in pulled the
erect cock out in to the open. He held it in his open hand. He saw about
six inches of thick uncut male equipment. There was a copious amount of
precum leaking from the tip.
"That's a good handful I'm holding, Mal"
"Let's see yours then?"
"Come and find it then."
It was Malcolm's turn to undo clothing and pull aHIS penis out into the
light on day. Ben too was uncut, but his cock was thicker round the base
and tapered slightly towards the tip. It was the first time Malcolm had
held another guy's cock.
"Never held another guy's cock before?"
"No. Have you?"
"Yes, a number of times. Let me have a proper look at you." Ben pushed
down Malcolm's trousers and pants, down to his ankles. "I've always
wondered if men with your coloured hair had the same colour round their
cocks."
Malcolm laughed. "Well, now you know."
Ben loosened his trousers and pushed them down to his ankles so Malcolm
could see him properly.
Ben took charge. He moved round behind Malcolm. He placed his cock along
the divide of Malcolm's buttocks, but made no attempt at penetration. With
his left hand he cupped Malcolm's testicles, and with his right hand he
ministered to his penis. He did not have to do much. Ben felt Malcolm go
rigid in his arms, and then his cock went into spasm and a great jet of
white sperm shot out a couple of feet, landing on the dead leaves of the
old oak tree.
"Enjoy that, my friend?" asked Ben.
Malcolm drew in a great breath. "That was great. I've never felt anything
like that, ever."
After a minute or two they reversed roles, and soon a mighty jet of Ben's
sperm joined Malcolm's on the woodland floor. They turned towards each
other. The sun came out, and there were great shafts of bright sunlight
coming down like some celestial spot lights onto the two young men. They
hugged. They kissed. They got dressed, and collecting their bicycles they
made their way back home."
Jeffyrks@hotmail.com
1. Higher. Higher School Certificate, the later equivalent was 'A
levels'
2, MCC Marylebone Cricket Club - then the ruling body for cricket, and
the owners of Lord's Cricket Ground.